


Spiders and Stars

by Woodsmokeandwords (MmPumpkins)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1100s, Crusades Era Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Getting to Know Each Other, Historical, Historical queers, Joe doesn't like olives, M/M, Nicky is afraid of spiders, Prequel, They're not in love yet but they're getting there, just two guys being bros chilling by the campfire five feet apart cause they're not gay, long poetical descriptions of the night sky because Joe is a POET
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmPumpkins/pseuds/Woodsmokeandwords
Summary: It has been years since the night that changed both of them, the night they killed each other. Some might say they are doing this backwards, starting by killing the other and then getting to know each other afterwards. But they aren't ordinary people and ordinarily Yusuf would not care that a Frank did not like spiders.A getting to know each other drabble. I like to think this is two or so decades after the first Crusade in the 1090s, they’ve met (killing each other and otherwise) before this but now they’ve actually lain aside their animosity and have decided to travel together at last.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88





	Spiders and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Some language notes:  
> Joe refers to Nicky as 'a Frank', as I understand it this was an umbrella term used for Crusaders. He's well aware Nicky is not French but he is European and French forces made up much of the crusading armies. 
> 
> I am definitely not an expert on this era of history, Islam, Catholicism or Arabic. I tried to keep things on safe ground but just in case I didn't, if there is anything in this fic to offend I would rather know and be able to fix it or take it down than not know and have hurt someone.

It is their fifth night of traveling together. The stars spread out above them in a tapestry of silver against the inky blackness of night, the edges of Yusuf’s vision contrast with darkness on one side and the yellow glow of their fires embers on the other, the heavens a bridge across the divide. It is their fifth night of stretching silence after the stilted, necessary conversation of making camp and preparing their meal. Their fifth night of staring in silence at the stars until exhaustion claims them. And then suddenly it is not.  
“I am afraid of spiders.” the Frank says in his own language. They have not spoken of the fact Yusuf has learned Genoese, it has seemed too big a topic to address so far. Yusuf turns his head just enough to nearly see him in his periphery but something stops him short of truly looking. He worries that it might somehow shatter the moment.  
“I find they have far too many legs for my liking.” the Frank continues in the same matter of fact tone. Yusuf reaches for something to say in response...  
“I suppose... eight is a lot of legs.” this earns him a hum of agreement and something in his chest _relaxes,_ something he did not know had been tense.  
“I don’t like olives.” Yusuf says, and this time he does look at the Frank, at Nicoló, he corrects himself. The other man’s face is a study in harsh planes of shadow from the dying fire but he is clearly smiling. Yusuf lies back down. The silence shifts back into place but this time it’s softer around the edges.  
  
-  
  
The next night starts in much the same way as all the others. They stop for the day, they find a place to camp, they feed and water their horses, start a fire, prepare their meal. But whilst they both stare into the flames afterwards the Frank breaks the silence again.  
“I had a pet dog when I was a child.” Yusuf looks up and meets his eyes over the fire.  
“What was its name?”  
“Giovedi.”  
“The day of the week?” The Frank smiles at Yusuf’s confusion.  
“We found him in the kitchens on a Thursday. I was not a very imaginative child.” He says and nudges a stick further into the flames with the toe of his boot.  
“Our mosque had a cat.” Yusuf says after a little while, “we would leave scraps out for it before prayers and it would be there when we came outside afterward.”  
“Did you name it?”  
“Alfaar.”  
“Does it mean something?” Nicoló has not learned Arabic. Yusuf tries not to think about why he adds _yet_ onto that statement in the privacy of his own thoughts.  
“Mouse.” he answers, smiling at the memory. Nicoló laughs. He laughs and all of Yusuf hones in on the sound. It is like his very being is a knife under a whetstone and the whetstone is this man’s laugh. This man with his cold stone eyes and his kind smile.  
  
-  
  
The seventh night of their traveling together they start this new routine earlier. Yusuf begins it tonight, whilst he is stirring the stew they’ve cobbled together in the pot they bought from a peddler five days ago.  
“I have four brothers.” he says and watches Nicoló pause in the act of stitching up a tear in his horse’s blanket.  
“Older or younger?” He asks.  
“Older, I am the youngest son.”  
“I have two sisters and a brother.” Nicoló replies.  
“Are you the eldest?”  
“No, I am also the youngest son, but my sisters are younger.”  
“Are they married?”  
“Why? Are you interested?” Nicoló is smiling, it is clearly a joke and it is Yusuf’s turn to laugh.  
“You would marry your sisters to a ‘heathen’?” he manages when he’s finally caught his breath again.  
“I don’t know, perhaps.” Nicoló is watching him very carefully now, despite the smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. Yusuf watches him back, this foreign invader, who didn’t stop at disturbing the peace of Yusuf’s home but seems intent on disturbing the peace in his heart too and decides he has nothing to lose.  
“Your sisters are safe, I am far more interested in their brother.”  
“I am not sure Vincenzo cares for such attentions.”  
“Vincenzo is not who I meant.” They stare at each other through the glow of the flames until Yusuf cannot bear to any longer.  
“My mother knew... but she died when I was sixteen.”  
“I am sorry.” Yusuf is surprised to find that he means it. He misses his mother, and she lives still.  
“Her name was Sophia.” there is a softness to his cold stone eyes as he says this that Yusuf wishes would remain there always.  
“My mother is Maryam”  
“Like Mary? The mother of God?”  
“Of Isa, yes.” Nicoló lets the correction pass without comment.  
“She still lives?” He is watching the flames again and Yusuf wonders if he is thinking of his own mother and missing her.  
“When I left her last, yes.”  
“I would give anything for God to grant me one more conversation with my mother.” He says quietly, and then to Yusuf’s shock, “she would have liked you, I think.” He does not know what to say. He is picturing a Frankish woman, or at least he is trying to, he has not seen one before. The only thing that is clear about her is her eyes, which in his imagination are the same stone grey as her son’s.  
“You will see her again, Nicoló, in Heaven.” He says, before he can think and it is with a lurching sensation in his gut that he realises the enormity of his blunder when Nicoló looks at him again. There is a steely pain behind his eyes, in the grim set of his mouth, that feels like a blow. It must show on his face because it is snuffed out as quickly as it appeared on Nicoló’s face.  
“I wish with all my heart that one day that may be true.” he says. And before Yusuf can stick anymore of his foot into his mouth Nicoló has risen from the ground and gone to wash his face in the nearby creek. When he comes back Yusuf is lying down, staring up at the stars that dance overhead and wishing his tongue had not run away from him. He listens to Nicoló finish repairing the blanket and the sounds of the other man settling down to sleep. Despite his worry, the silence is still soft. A comforting weight, like Nicoló’s mended blanket.  
  
-  
  
They continue this new tradition of sharing simple facts as the days creep by, drawing on into weeks and then into months as they journey together. Until what started as a handful of words carefully proffered between them grows into stories, shared experiences, memories, jokes that sometimes transcend the vast ocean of difference between their lives and other times ones that don’t. Those are Yusuf’s favourites because then they get to explain, and the slowly growing tapestry of their understanding is worked upon.  
  
It will be two years before he gives in and kisses Nicoló’s kind smile, two years before either of them is brave enough to acknowledge the thing between them that they have each quietly tended to with their facts and their stories and their jokes over the years. When that moment comes, Yusuf will think back and remember a star-laden sky, the banked embers of a fire and a Frankish voice filling the silence with his dislike for spiders.


End file.
